


Three times Steve dealt successfully with technology (and one time he needed Tony's help)

by SrebrnaFH



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 3+1 Things, Adopted Peter Parker, Bad Flirting, Bike, Everyday Life, Flirting, Found Families, Friends to Lovers, Identity Reveal, Innuendo, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker's Field Trip to Stark Industries, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Smart Steve, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is smarter than he looks, Steve is actually good with tech, Steve's bike, Stuck in a Lift, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Swearing (a bit), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony thirsts over Steve's muscles, Trigonometry, electric trains, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: Steve actually is smarter than he seems.Seriously.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 77
Kudos: 627





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since canonically Steve is a pretty bright guy - photographic memory, good tactical skills, intelligence matching his muscles - the portrayal in the movies (while delivering some comic relief) seems... unfair.  
> On the day he first meets Stark and the others, he has been out of ice for two weeks. And he has been immediately dropped into a new war zone, with a new enemy, no additional training or preparation. Which is not a good way to start relationship (of any weight) with new teammates.  
> Anyway. Steve, given a chance to show his skills, would shine (and not just because of his annoyingly perfect teeth). He is more than just a pretty face and a bulging biceps.

"Boss, there is a _little_ situation in the garage."

He frowned at the ceiling, trying to guess what FRIDAY meant by that - rather cryptic - message.

"Boss, Captain Rogers had been registered by the cameras on the ground level, walking into the garage on foot. He seems to be _agitated_."

Rogers.

Walking into the garage.

_Walking._

Agitated.

"Uh-hm. Fri, cover for me here. When Parker comes, tell him to... to do his homework, OK? I'll be right back."

####

By the time he got downstairs, there was already a very annoyed supersoldier down on the floor next to a bike that had seen better days.

"It just stopped working in the middle of the road," Rogers grunted, not looking up at him.

"Do you—" Tony paused, noticing the toolbox next to Steve's hand. "Ah."

"Yeah, sorry, helped myself to the ones that were already lying around. I hope you don't mind, I just need them for a few minutes and it should be fine. I've taken it apart a few times — well, not this one, but the old one. They didn't change all that mm-much... Shhuuugar. OK, not good. Tony, do you have some rags?"

He handed Steve the rags. And then the bigger wrench. Then several screwdrivers and another, smaller wrench.

"Water got inside and rusted through the cover," came from where Steve was taking that piece apart.

"There was a pebble inside, because the cover was rusted," he heard next.

Then there was some grunting and a sigh.

"And half of the wires are torn or nearly, so—"

Tony silently fetched the cleaning solution, a coil of isolated copper wire and a soldering iron.

"That doesn't sound very optimistic," he ventured cautiously, peering at the seriously rusty piece of wiring Rogers was picking apart with his - surprisingly precise - fingers.

"Well, not the worst thing I've fixed and at least now I have a lot more tools than the last time— Then I just had an anvil, a blacksmith's hammer and a lot of stubbornness."

_This you've got plenty still today._

"Well, at least I can offer you better supplies and much larger assortment of hammers."

He was probably shameless, yes, but watching Steve's abdomen muscles where his shirt had ridden so high up was a pleasure he could not deny himself, and the way the whole MAN moved as he crouched next to his machine — the sheer _competency_ with which he handled it, was unbearably sexy. Absolutely unbearable in total.

Tony discreetly checked his own appearance in one of the car mirrors nearby and grimaced at the smudge of dirty oil that was decorating his cheek and which he had not noticed until that point. He must have been walking around like that for _hours_. Parker would have pointed it out to him — _Parker_!

"Shit, Steve, I'm sorry. There is an intern coming, a new kid — well, not new, but nearly new — like, I've met him five times total — I need to go up and meet him before he sets fire to my lab, or something."

"You leave a kid alone in your lab? Is this reasonable?"

"Do you think it's safer or more risky than leaving a supersoldier alone in my garage?"

A surprised and scowling blue eye looked at him from under the blonde fringe.

"I will have you know, Tony, that I've never unintentionally set fire to anything. You can rest easy on that topic."

"Hm. _Un_ intentionally, you say. OK, just put the stuff back where it was and get the wiring throughly tested with FRIDAY before you leave—" he blinked. "Actually, how _did_ you get it in here? I mean, there is the ramp, but—"

"I carried it," Steve smiled mildly before sitting up to tinker with another little piece. "Go, go, Tony. Before FRIDAY calls you to save your intern from roasting into a piece of coal."

Tony shook his head and allowed himself to be carried upstairs, where, luckily, Parker was only reading his chemistry textbook and not actually setting fire to anything, intentionally or not.

For the time being, of course.

####

"So... How is the bike?"

"She's running smoothly and quietly now. Apparently needed a lot of cleaning that was _supposed_ to have been done by the dealer that had sold her to me, but they skimped on customer service. So I did all the repairs myself and now I'll also have to check the tires and all other details. Who knows what may be hiding under these pretty shiny surfaces."

"That's not cool. I mean, what the dealer did. Do you want me to sue him? I could totally sue him. And make him look bad on the news, too."

Tony poured himself a glass of something decidedly nonalcoholic and sat down vis-a-vis Steve, who was demolishing a small heap of fried sausages.

"Do you wanna help? With the bike, not with the court case, let's not sue anyone this week," the soldier offered, pointing at him with his fork. "I mean, I can do it by myself, no sweat, but it's always more fun to do it with someone."

"Like most things-" Tony caught himself before saying it louder.

"Like most things," Steve confirmed with a smirk, reminding Tony of the often-overlooked fact of Supersoldier's superhearing being the most fucking uncomfortable aspect of the whole supersoldier package.

Superfuckingannoying.

"So—?"

"Yeah, I'll help you with your little rubbery problem," Tony took a long draught of his juice, watching Steve's twinkling blue gaze.

"Well, I hope that once we pump them a bit, they will become quite comfortably stiff."

"Nobody knows, with this old equipment... I mean, the are at least from the 40's. They must be falling apart by now."

"We can replace them easily, Tony. There must be proper rubbers out there to fit an older piece of equipment like my— bike."

"You should be careful with your— bike, Steve. You wouldn't want anything getting scuffed, or scratched."

"Some scratches add character," Steve sniffed slightly. "But that is absolutely up to anyone's choice. I happen to prefer a bit of roughness here and there, instead of pure softness and smoothness..." he slowly rubbed down his - annoyingly - clean-shaven jaw. "I mean, there is a place and time for everything, right, Tony?"

Tony carefully did _not_ inhale the juice and jumped on the first idea he could find for an alternative topic.

"Will you tell me now how you managed to fix up your old bike using a smith's hammer?"

Although maybe an evening spent on imagining in details how Steve had hefted a bike up, turned it upside down and then proceeded to hammer out a piece of metal to replace one of the engine covers was not exactly as relaxing as he had been planning to have.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That little Field Trip addition ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a whole Field Trip, but I hope it covers all the necessary aspects of the trope.

The children on the elevator were restless and squirmy, but kept distance from his bulky figure. The only boy visibly not bothered by the presence of a big, beefy man in the corner leaned on the side wall, by the buttons, his attention glued to the small screen in front of him, as he typed furiously with both thumbs. Steve would have given a _lot_ for someone to teach him that technique, since he felt his texting skills were not up to challenge on occasion. Especially when _texting_ with Tony.

"Hey, Parker, where did ya get this sleek new phone?"

The boy jerked away at the last second, avoiding his classmate's hand and saving his smartphone from an ungraceful grab.

"Leave me alone, Flash. I was asked to test it."

"Who would ask you to test anything?" the taller, beefier boy advanced on 'Parker'. "You aren't good enough to taste-test my _boots_. There is no way someone..."

"Mister Stark asked me to test the screen responsiveness," the smaller kid said softly, pocketing the phone. "None of your business, Flash. Get off me..!"

Uh-huh.

"I think you should listen, son," Steve said finally, fixing the bully with hard gaze. "I don't like people who pick on their classmates."

"That's because Parker is a liar," the boy spat out venomously, not really looking back at him. "He's been parading around claiming he works with Stark for months now and yet, somehow, nobody in this building knows anything about him."

"Because I work for Mister Stark," the answer was so soft Steve almost didn't catch it. "I never meet other interns and the lady in HR who signed my papers is off today."

"Yeah, sure. Convenient. And you don't have a badge, either."

The smaller boy was close to tears now.

"I always— always use the elevator on the east side of the building and—"

"And it doesn't have the card reader, only biometric recognition," Steve added when 'Parker's' voice failed.

" _Very_ convenient."

'Flash' was apparently even stupider than he seemed.

"That's a problem easy to resolve," Steve provided. "FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Do you recognise—" he paused and looked at the silent boy.

"Peter Parker," came a very small answer.

"—Peter Parker as person authorised to using the private elevator three?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Can you tell me, the piece of tech that Peter has in his pocket, is he supposed to have it?"

"Yes, Captain. The Boss's exact words were 'Take this and tell me what you think of screen response. And don't look at me like this, I know you broke yours, I've seen that cracked glass.' end quote."

"Thank you, Friday."

"My pleasure, sir. Peter, the boss has just asked me to inform you that today he is waiting for you on the penthouse floor. He has some paperwork to go over with you."

"Sure, Fri. Thanks."

The large brown eyes looking at him were somehow incredibly very much like Tony's.

"Thank you."

The boy's whisper was nearly inaudible - definitely below what a non-supersoldier would hear.

"So, you are Tony's intern?"

"Uh-huh."

"He might have mentioned you, a time or two," he nudged a boy slightly. "Peter... so you are 'Pete'? The one who helps him with the nanites?"

There was a sudden hush in the elevator.

Kids were turning to watch them.

Apparently talking to AI and getting her confirmation was not enough, but 'nanites' drew everyone's attention.

"Peter, you never said—"

Whatever the girl wanted to ask, she never got to finish, as the elevator suddenly plunged down, dropping, by Steve's estimate, at least twenty metres.

"Four floors," the boy muttered. "Why would we drop— We're on the thirtieth. There is this little ledge there— NOBODY MOVE."

"What?"

The bully from earlier was now somewhat unhealthy in colour, gone green under the tan.

"The car stopped because there is that little ledge here in the shaft. Normally the car passes it because it is kept all straight by the cables, but since we dropped, the car is now stuck at an angle, but— If we move around too much, we can push it off and—" the boy swallowed, loudly. "It's still thirty floors drop below us."

"Everyone calm down. Now, all of you, I need you not to panic. We will be _just fine._ "

The voice shook. Terribly.

_Oh my._

A nervous teacher. That was bad on so many levels.

"If I may?" he spoke up - softly enough not to startle anyone. Children turned towards him, all pale and shivery. "Friday, can you tell me what happened?"

"I'm afraid there is a problem in the machine room, Captain. I've lost visuals there, but the boss is flying up there to check on the situation. From the results, however, the main winding wheel seems to have gone loose and an electric surge that went down the shaft has disabled most of our sensors here. The boss has been informed of your situation and Mr Parker's diagnosis and he concurs. The best solution for all of you now is to stay still."

He glanced at the kids in the elevator, petrified in their spots.

_Deep breaths, Rogers. Deep breaths._

"So, Peter," he nodded to the kid, not daring to move too much. "Been working with Tony long?"

"Halfayear," the boy mumbled, looking away. "Kinda. A bit more."

"M-uhm. And you spend a lot of time in the building? How did you know about that ledge?"

"Miss Potts showed me the blueprints, when I was making a presentation on emergency exit routes."

"Because that's what the internship in SI is all about, powerpoint slides about how to walk out of the building," the bully, 'Flash', rolled his eyes.

"Among other things," Peter agreed, eyes still intent on the ceiling. "That's how I know that the ledge we are stuck on is..." his lips moved silently, "twelve inches deep."

"Is the lift shaft—" Steve paused. "How precise is the fit?"

"Two inches of wobble margin," the boy answered immediately.

"Oh, come on, Parker, you can't just spout this kind of...!"

"The lift is 190 centimeters wide inside, 2 meters on the outside, perfect square. Five centimeters margin. Thirty centimeters depth of the ledge. The outside of the car is two and a half meters tall," Peter recited quickly. "If we are fully deep stuck on the ledge, then our angle..."

"Should be ten degrees," Steve filled in quickly. "Is it ten?"

The boy sighed and shook his head mutely.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Which means we are not completely resting on the ledge YOU BETTER STOP SQUIRMING RIGHT NOW MISTER, SO HELP ME...!"

The bully stopped where he was, but the elevator _moved_. Just a tiny bit.

"We are not resting fully deep on that ledge and if you move again, you could push us all off and we would not want that, would we? Now, Peter, since it's only the two of us at this end, if FRIDAY can open the door for us, can you keep yourself from moving? I will need to push us away from that wall, to make sure we are stuck as deeply on that little ledge as we can."

"Y-yeah," the teen was pale under his freckles. "I can. Just... FRI, can you open the door, but just the portion near Captain Rogers?"

"It is technically possible, Peter, but it will be a breach of security protocols to open the door of a working elevator when it's not at rest."

"FRI, this is not a _working_ elevator and please please open the door so we can survive and I can argue with you another time?"

"I will need a confirmation from a registered Tower occupant."

Judging by the kid's imploring gaze, that meant Steve.

"Confirmed, FRIDAY. Please do as Peter says."

The door slowly opened - just the half on his side, luckily, as per Peter's request.

"Which should I brace myself on?" he asked the boy, who was now staring at him with wide-eyed adoration. "The side of the car is more stable and better enforced, but if I catch it by the door, I'll be pushing more evenly."

Peter frowned.

"The door... When the elevator is locked down, the door is stabilised by this special additional rod that telescopes into floor and ceiling. Uh, FRI, is there any way to apply lockdown rods to the door just on one side?"

"I'm afraid it's impossible, Peter."

The AI even sounded regretful.

"OK, so we'll do it the hard way. Peter, can you climb?"

The boy grimaced.

"He can't even run properly in the gym," someone laughed from behind, but the laughter was tinted with hysteria.

"Yeah, I can," the boy said very very very softly. "What do I have to do?"

"I will push us deeper onto the ledge and keep us like that. Then I need _you_ to climb on my back and open the top panel of the ceiling."

"W-what?"

He looked in the wide, brown eyes.

"There has to be something wrong with the brakes, if the did _not_ engage when the surge went through. They are designed to close in case of electrical problems."

"Oh-ok. I haven't thought about it."

"It's not the first elevator I've been stuck in. I've had time to learn how they work. And this," he nodded up towards the ceiling, "Is not it."

"I see. OK. I can try, I suppose... What am I looking for?"

"I'll tell you once you are up there. Do you have any tools?"

"A screwdriver set," came a muffled answer. "And a pair of pliers."

_Why would a kid on a field trip bring in a pair of pliers...!?_

"OK. OK, screwdriver is good. Now, I'll push us out..."

In minutes, he was standing with his back tense and pushing the lift car deeper into ledge - he had felt the back of the car connecting with the wall, fortunately for his ease of mind - and Peter was on his shoulders, barely staying on, pushing the ceiling hatch up and out of the way.

Once the boy was through, he could change his position and breathe a bit easier.

_Just don't go imagining what will happen to the kid if he touches a live wire..._

"FRIDAY?"

Silence.

_Shit._

"Peter, I'll have to walk you through this. Now, look on the side of the main line—"

He walked the boy through the diagnosis and then resetting of the brakes - which the kid managed to do with some effort, but positive outcome.

"Did both of them clamp correctly on the main rail?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers," the boy reported breathlessly. "Also, the help is coming."

"What do you...?"

The external door to the floor just above them was wrenched open, manually.

"Steve," Tony laughed softly, crouching to see down into the elevator - the picture he made must have been ridiculous, with his muscles strained against the wall and— "Everyone, in a moment you'll be able to just step over to safety, there is a suit coming from downstairs that will push you all up."

"Not needed, Mister Stark," the boy - Peter - popped his head upside down from the hatch to join the conversation. "Captain Rogers walked me through this and I've rewired the brakes."

"You— you _what_?"

"Yeah?" they both shrugged - Peter still hanging head down.

"I don't think I want to know. OK, the suit has connected," a metallic CLANG rang through the elevator shaft and the car slowly crawled upwards, finally levelling with the correct floor. "You kids can get out of there now, your guide will get you safely downstairs. You, misters," Tony nodded at Steve and Pete. "You stay. We have some explaining to do."

He looked at the kid, who very carefully remained silent.

"I-I'll pick Peter up later then?" the teacher stuttered.

"I'll drive him home," Tony sighed. "The kid's foster parents have signed a permission for him to stay here after the trip."

"I— I can't just—"

"Just leave."

The man left.

They stood in silence for a few heartbeats.

"Come down now, Peter. They are gone and nobody is watching."

"B-but—"

"Come on, Pete. Down, to the floor. _Safely_ , if you know what I mean."

The boy made a little, anxious sound.

"The Cap is fine. You won't tell on Peter, will you, Steve?"

"Tell... what?"

Tony just nodded to where the boy had been. And the kid was gone from where he had been peeking through the hatch.

Now, he was on the ceiling, sitting with his knees drawn close, looking at them with a grin.

Sitting.

On the ceiling.

Steve rubbed his eyes discreetly.

Nope, the kid was still there.

"Down, I said," Tony pointed to the floor. "Or I will pull you off this ceiling."

"Come on!" Peter giggled. _Giggled_. Sitting on the ceiling and _giggling_. "I can finally show—"

"Don't make me fetch the broom. _And_ I will tell Pepper."

"That's not playing _fair_."

"My elevators, my rules."

The kid rolled his eyes and— Just dropped to the floor gracefully.

Quietly.

Like a feather.

"What."

"Hi. I'm Peter Parker," the kid stuck his hand out. "And, I'm Spider-man."

Tony's smile of satisfaction at seeing Steve's stupefied expression was definitely annoying.

He could only hope Peter would be leaving soon, so that Steve could take care of erasing that smirk from his boyfriend's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maths has been edited. I did mess up my trig calculations ;)
> 
> Some small edits so that dialogue made more sense.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve also knows how to do smaller scale repairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone wonders - yes, there is a lot of progress between the chapters ;) Several months pass, each time.
> 
> (small edits added)

Peter was sitting in the living room, a large box of train-related decorations by his foot and one, single, black-and-red locomotive on the tracks taking most of the space on the coffee table in front of him.

"Pete? What's wrong? Is it broken?"

The boy nodded jerkily, never looking up.

"Oh. Hi, Steve. This was Uncle Ben's. It's not starting."

It was an explanation. In fact, since this was _Peter_ , and the locomotive had been _Ben's_ , it was the whole story in two sentences.

Obviously, since it had been Ben Parker's, it was important to Peter and therefore not to be ignored. Any problem with it was not to be delayed or somehow sidelined. It had been the same when May Parker's old photo album turned out to have been stored in some damp basement by Peter's last foster family - Tony had dropped nearly everything when he had found Peter crying silently over the pages that had gotten stuck together. Actually, there was at least a dozen of patents now pending filed by Pepper, after Tony was done restoring the photos and the captions (hand-written by Aunt May) to their former glory.

By now, Steve knew nearly everything that was there to be known about Peter's family - parents who had died when he was a toddler, aunt and uncle who took him in and then also died, subsequent three foster families who could not deal with an overly intelligent (and superpowered, but shh...) child - and he knew that Ben and May had been _the_ parents for Peter. And so, Ben's locomotive? One of the few possessions Peter had managed to hold on to, over the several months it had taken Tony to catch up to the fact that he simply had to take the kid under his care? It should not have to wait for Tony to be back from the tedious (for all three of them) conference he got stuck at due to a combination of a broken fuel line in the jet, a surprise blizzard and Tony catching a case of sniffles.

Pepper was looking after Tony - lovely, helpful, caring Pepper who had stopped him from flying home in his suit when he accidentally admitted to having a cold - and Steve had promised to be there for Peter, in case the boy got anxious over being left to his own devices for an entire evening.

And now Peter's little model train locomotive seemed to have died (probably many years ago) and Peter was looking at it with apprehension.

"If it was, you know, _mine_ , like, I would have opened it up already," the boy confessed softly. "And if I couldn't make it better by replacing the engine with newer stuff, Dad for sure would have helped me fix it properly. But I don't want to risk Ben's..."

Of course. Obvious.

If the train had been Peter's _own_ \- received from Tony or Steve or someone else, since so many grownups doted on the boy, ever since Tony had adopted him (in a rather scandalous atmosphere, which was a completely separate story) - nobody would have been surprised with any kind of "correction" or "modernisation" Peter applied to it. Since it is Ben's, however, it simply _had to_ remain in its pristine, vintage condition - barring the inability to move - and Peter obviously was not sure of his ability to fix it without modifying it too much (which was what he normally did with toys he and Tony happily enhanced with the newest technology they could find).

"OK," he licked his lips and opened the browser on the large StarkPad Tony had built for him specifically ("For these _big hands_ of yours..."). "Let's go downstairs. I need you find me the third smallest set of screwdrivers and I'll look for the schematics."

####

"I believe you've made the kid incandescently happy."

"Just a little rubbing alcohol, some cotton swabs and a lot of oil. Well, some application of a soldering iron to retouch the connections. I will teach him to service the older models himself. As soon as I find any manual that is not in Russian, because I don't think we need another Russian-speaking spider in this city. He will probably be even better at fiddling with all these tiny pieces, since he can use his stickyness."

"Mhm. And should I feel threatened in my position of the master of small technical aspects of our everyday life?"

"Not at all. But with the ones that run on pure electricity I will claim I can at least reasonably help."

"Oh, you can, you can. You've more than proved that."

"Tony..."

"Mhm."

"You do know that I would never usurp your place in Peter's life..."

A kiss drowned out his protest.

And he knew that his fiance knew.

He pulled Tony closer and over him.

He would show his lover 'small', hah.

####

"Do you know what Peter texted me today?"

"M-hm?"

He could barely open his eyes, but Tony waved his phone at him, so Steve caught it and peered closer.

It was a photo of him, a tiny screwdriver in hand, prying open the casing on the locomotive.

"I didn't notice he took the photo...?"

"No, look. Below. See?"

_We're spending an afternoon at the workshop. Don't worry, we are not exploding anything. Papa is fixing my train._

"W-what?"

"Well, now you know what the kid thinks of you. Papa."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets stuck on a bit of tech incompatibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following!  
> Special thanks to all who commented - you are lovely!

Peter had simply murmured "Papa is cranky today," when Tony walked in and that was sign enough that Steve had to be in very, very lousy mood. Normal, everyday annoyances did not even register on their domestic scale of issues, and Steve actively shielded Peter from his blacker moods and more depressive episodes. Hence, if he had allowed himself enough expression of his emotions for Peter to notice and be wary of it...

People perceived Captain America as a fierce leader in the field (correctly), ferocious fighter in one-to-one encounters (ditto) and a cute, apple-pie-sweet, kind, calm boy-next-door, dreamy-eyed... Ah, no, that was Tony's opinion... well, anyway, everyone knew that Captain Steven Rogers was nice, well-behaved and maybe a bit too tolerant for his own good. Case in point, he had married Tony.

They had expected a variety of backlash once their relationship had become public, and they received it. What surprised them was the content. There was some of the holy-symbol-of-America-can't-be-gay, of course, but most of it focused on Steve not knowing Tony's past and so being too good for his "overly experienced" new partner. The papers were trying to defend Captain America's virtue as if it was somehow their business. Or as if there was something to defend there. Hah. They had debunked the more idiotic takes over and over again, including Tony explaining that _he_ had been seduced by Steve - in a live interview with Stephen Colbert, no less - and that Tony had been the one more resistant to moving forward. To what Stephen choked slightly on his tea and the audience erupted with whistles and laughs.

Still, the general audience retained the image of Steve that had been set in their minds when Captain America was first introduced to the public, just after defrosting - a big, kind, careful man who wouldn't hurt a fly and was somewhat lost in the twenty-first century.

They didn't see him in the kitchen as he cursed over a burnt toast or over touching a hot pan (it healed quickly, but it didn't mean it didn't hurt like a bitch), when he watched the news and commented scathingly on the variety of human refuse being given voice in public, when he picked Peter up from school and had to tend to their boy's black eye (Peter said 'dodgeball', Karen said 'Flash Thompson during dodgeball'), when his bike crapped out in the middle of the road once again or when he had to wait for his Windows to update and so was cut off from his art course forum for the entire two hours (he wasn't going to use the StarkPad for writing, as he very much preferred a full mechanical keyboard, well it was his choice to get stuck with a desktop and to curse it to high heavens every few weeks).

They hadn't seen him angry, annoyed, impatient, gnashing his teeth, sleep-deprived or hungry. A hungry supersoldier was a sight to behold, if from a distance. A hungry supersoldier who also had to feed a hungry vigilante, and so had to spend the time on preparing a meal for two overblown metabolisms, was even more of a ticking bomb in the kitchen. Only Peter dared approach him in these days (and usually to help speed the meal prep up, thus mollifying the simmering hungry rage slightly).

To the point: Tony knew his beloved and if it was bad enough for Peter to call his Papa "cranky" it meant Steve was on the verge of blowing up. Internally. Never good, even for a supersoldier.

It was, however, surprisingly quiet in the penthouse. No curses, no movement, no moving of furniture, no sound of furious cleaning (which was how Steve had channelled his anger after his last confrontation with General Ross). No signs of what Peter had seen as crankiness.

"Fri... where can I find my husband?"

"Captain Rogers is in his studio, boss. I suggest some food and water would not come amiss, since he hadn't eaten anything for the last three hours."

See above, hungry supersoldier.

Thankfully the fridge was full of quick solutions for that problem and soon Tony was pushing the door of the "studio" open with his elbow, hands occupied by a tray of meat pies (Steve's and Peter's favourite way of stocking up on protein) and caramel pudding (Steve's shameful little secret).

His husband was surprisingly motionless for someone apparently angry enough to slip up with Peter. Sitting at his desk - the computer one, not the drawing one - and looking at something spread in front of him. Something big and...

"Your new tablet?" Tony asked finally, putting the tray on the secure surface of the side table, far away from any painting supplies. "Anything wrong with it?"

"Not sure."

Steve's voice was calm. Artificially so.

Tony had known him long enough to recognise the forced manner.

"What's—"

"I can't make it work, ok? I... Bloody hell, what am I even doing? I specifically— Crap."

However much he appreciated Steve's filthy mouth, this was not the situation he wanted to experience it in. Bed, fight, training, yes. Not the little sanctuary that the studio had become for Steve over the previous months. Never here. This was Steve's safe place, his hidey hole. His oasis of calm.

And now it was broken. Affected.

And Steve was shaking.

"I thought I was doing so well, you know?" his husband said in conversational tone. "E-mail, covered. Twitter account, covered, with Peter's help. Facebook, official fanpage, Flickr, Deviantart gallery. Instagram. People are sharing my memes and commenting on the content of my videoblogs, not only on my appearance. Progress, right? There are companies out there who want me to test their products, even though of all the non-selling artists of this world, I probably need free samples the least. I managed to get a few of them to cooperate with various art schools, actually. I declared I would post videos of me testing their stuff only if they support ten scholarships to any art school around the world. I have a thick file of certificates of funds being delivered. I tested their products, honestly, like they asked _and_ posted them successfully on Youtube. I'm getting better at curating my online presence, too. I even managed to get most of these bloody PSAs deleted..."

"I got the rest," Tony provided softly. "Although I'm keeping copies to scare Peter with when needed."

"Tony...!"

"So what has your boxers in a twist today, lover?"

Steve heaved a breath. And when Steve _heaved_ a breath, it was a big thing.

"This. Bloody drawing tablet."

Tony took a peek.

Pretty high-end, large-scale drawing tablet, indeed. All connected to the big desktop machine he had put together for Steve. All lights on, everything seemed to be fine.

"One of these sponsorship deals?"

"No, this one I actually ordered for myself. I've been waiting for it for a week, since they had to ship it in 'fragile' load, but then I asked at the shop what they suggest as accessories..."

Tony frowned.

That didn't seem right.

"What did they tell you?"

Steve shrugged. Dejectedly.

Like a small dejected mountain.

"The assistant was more than happy to show me. He said that there is a newer generation of matching stylus and secondary signal device and that they are sold in funny novelty shapes, like— real normal pencils— And I tried to understand how I'm supposed to— to turn them on, or, or something. And—"

Steve's voice trailed off, while Tony followed his gaze to where a perfectly normal set of drawing utensils was waiting to be used.

The operative part being _normal_.

A sharp inhale marked the moment Steve's brain won with his emotions.

"Oh, Steve. I think he might have— Well, these aren't really—"

"Shit."

"I'm afraid so."

"That little..."

"Yes, love. Little bastard."

"Conniving, underhanded, vicious, heartless..."

"TROLL," they finished together.

"Feel better?" Tony dug his fingers into the broad, rock-hard shoulders, slowly massaging away the tension there.

"Slightly."

"You know what will make you feel really good?"

"Hm?"

_Apart from the obvious, but let's keep this for later._

"Let's take Pete shopping for some electronics. You know how the boy likes to ask the salespeople all these complicated questions and watch them squirm."

"No, it is _you_ who likes to watch them squirm. Peter is honestly asking in good faith and you are using him for your entertainment."

"Maybe. But the result is still the same. Also, it will be _your_ entertainment, too, this time."

His husband's muscles unbunched slowly.

"Now, let's tell our kid that you are not mad at _him_ and sic him on the salesperson who decided to prank Captain America by selling him an automatic pencil as the tablet stylus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that it's finished, I'd like to ask you for a favour - since I'm taking a writing course (in fact, several in a row), I need some feedback. If you decide to leave a comment, can you please write me an answer to one (or more!) of the following?  
> \- what made you go "oooh, sweet!"  
> \- what made you go "argh, that hurt!"  
> \- what made you go "meh"  
> \- what made you go "nope"  
> I strive to improve my writing and that's why I'm asking for these answers. I want to eliminate the "meh" and the "nope" and add more from the more positive side of reaction spectrum :))


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